Worthless Rhythm Is Our Guide: Dexter
by Whedonist
Summary: Happy International Day of Femslash - this is a set of shorts featuring various characters set to the rhythm of a few songs from The Black Keys.


**Title:** Worthless Rhythm Is Our Guide  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> The majority of the characters contained herein do not belong to me. They belong to other people and I'm just using them for a little bit of recreational fun. No harm. No foul. No monies made…  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Dexter  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Debra Morgan/Various  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R – NC17  
><strong>Summary:<strong> A set of shorts featuring Debra Morgan and various characters set to the rhythm of a few songs from The Black Keys.

**A/N:** Happy International Day of Femslash! I can't participate in Con festivities, but I hope everyone has a good time. This bit is my contribution to celebrate today. I hope that if you read, you enjoy what I've done, some is A.U. and some is centered around canon.

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><p><strong>Everlasting Light<strong>

Parts of Debra Morgan, the parts of the little girl she locked away to keep safe, really wanted the fairytale ending. It's why Brian Moser hurt so bad. Sure he almost physically killed her.

But the physical would have been preferable.

It would have been something less painful than the aftermath and pieces she was left with.

It also brought her self-destructive tendencies to the forefront.

It was also why, right now, the heat pooled between her thighs as she was shoved against the back wall of the rear restroom stall. Why the nimble, deceptively strong fingers pushing up her shirt and undoing her buckle caused such a jolt to her system.

Blunt teeth scraped down the length of her neck.

Fingertips pinched and pulled at her achingly stiff nipple.

The other slim hand pushed past her panties and cupped wet, overheated flesh.

A grunt pushed past panting lips as the hand cupping her ground against her throbbing clit. "Fuck me," Debra hissed.

"Hmm," her partner moans, "I'm trying. You feel so good, so fucking wet."

The pressure increases and three fingers slipped inside her with minimal protest. Debra's head fell back against the cold, blue tile and her hips kept rhythm with the thrusts of the other woman's fingers.

As her mouth was covered by full lips and a probing tongue, she rode her orgasm out on the stranger's fingers. When she pulled the hands from her pants, she spun them around and dropped to her knees. Debra pushed the woman's skirt up, pushed her underwear aside and figured it was all for the best. Fairytales were for kids and for girls that didn't fuck in bathrooms anyhow.

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><p><strong>The Only One<strong>

Debra Morgan tugged at Ivey's t-shirt and begged, "Come on, dance with me."

The other woman shook her head and sipped at the beer in her hands. She liked the bar well enough, the music was good and she had her favorite Miami native on her arm, but she wasn't dancing.

Period.

Debra watched her girlfriend set her empty beer bottle down and tip her chair back, lacing her fingers behind her head. "Come on," the detective tried again. The shake of Ivelise's head indicted another firm rejection.

"Go," the other woman urged Debra, "have fun. I'm not a dancer, baby." Ivey made a shooing motion with her hands, emphasizing her point.

Deb knew the look of resolve in the impish features. She also knew how to turn that particular look in her favor. Leaning in she whispered in her lover's ear. When Deb pulled back she smirked; her partner stood and pulled her towards the dance floor. "You're lucky you're cute," Ivey relented as they began swaying to the music.

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><p><strong>Howlin' For You<strong>

"Morgan, come on, don't be like this," Ofc. Manzon pleaded with the detective. Cira wasn't sure when things went so wrong. It wasn't like they weren't all under the gun with the Santa Muerte investigation.

"You're un-fucking-believable, you know that?" Debra spat. She pushed her hand through her hair and growled, "We're not going to even talk about the fact that you fucking just ditched me that night…" Her lips formed a thin line, her jaw tightened. Shaking off the wave of anger, she rumbled on, "Instead, why don't we talk about you fucking throwing me to the fucking wolves?"

"Deb," Cira reached out, but her hand was smacked away.

"Don't fucking 'Deb' me," the detective warned. "It's Det. Morgan."

Cira watched helpless as the other woman barreled passed her and out of the room.

* * *

><p><strong>Never Gonna Give You Up<strong>

"Is knocking that fucking hard of a concept! Christ, Dex!" Debra shot a look to the woman in her bed and asked, "Give me a minute? I'll be right back."

Taking the nod for what it was, Debra threw some clothes on and pulled her stunned brother out of her room. They squared off in the living room, Debra shifting a bit nervously on her feet. Dexter's arms slack at his sides.

"Uh," the detective started out, "that wasn't how…you weren't supposed to find out…like that…" she trailed off as the smirk bloomed on her brother's face. "Fucking shut up," she snapped, socking him in the arm.

Dexter merely grinned and said, "It's cool, but seriously? S.S.A. Prentiss, Deb? I didn't think you had it in you."

"Shut the fuck up," Debra ground out, again. A grin formed despite herself.

* * *

><p><strong>The Go-Getter<strong>

The lights from the police cruisers flashed silently. Techs rushed around the scene and uniformed officers secured the perimeter. Det. Debra Morgan winced at the needle piercing the skin of her arm as the first suture was made. Her free arm held the compress to the gash on the left side of her forehead.

"Morgan!" Lt. La Guerta barked as she approached the back of the ambulance.

Debra sighed, bracing herself for the ass chewing for the shootout.

Instead, a warm smile passed over her superior's features and she said, "Good work."

Deb couldn't help grinning back; despite the pain, she was feeling pretty damn good.

* * *

><p><strong>Too Afraid To Love You<strong>

The detective looked across the small room to the woman she had never expected, but couldn't help but want just the same. Jess wasn't supposed to happen. Debra just didn't go and fall ass over tea kettle for anyone. Especially the new forensic analyst.

But, that was the thing. She did. She fell hard; right after she'd admitted to herself that she needed to expand her dating pool outside of the people she worked with. She'd even signed up for one of those dating websites, but then Jess started at the station and…

Shaking off her thoughts, the detective sighed and asked, "Now what?"

She watched the slim brunette turn her way and shake her head. "I'm sorry," the analyst whispered swiping the tears from her eyes.

"Fuckin' perfect," the other woman hissed when the door clicked shut leaving her alone in the interrogation room.

* * *

><p><strong>Your Touch<strong>

Debra Morgan wasn't an addict. She didn't smoke, only drank casually and had never tried anything harder than marijuana. She didn't like the loss of control that addiction threatened.

Yet, here she was; standing in front of the thick wooden door of a house whose occupant she'd meant only a month ago. It was her second visit this week and she couldn't explain why. She just knew she needed to see her, to feel the soft, pliant skin under her own hands and mouth.

The door swung open revealing the woman that had begun to consume the detective's thoughts. As the hand reached out and pulled her through the doorway, Debra realized that you didn't need chemicals to become an addict. A touch could be just as dangerous.


End file.
